Denial
by Jainie Starr
Summary: Spike mulls over things and has a not-so-friendly chat with the Slayer.


Denial

Spike lay atop the Fielding family's mausoleum on his stomach, his proud, blunt chin resting on his folded arms as he watched the Slayer patrol the perimeter of Wildbriar Cemetery.The Fieldings had been a large but eccentric (and _egocentric) brood of well-to-do types and their crypt was the largest and tallest of the lot.From his perch, Spike could easily monitor Buffy's progress through row upon row of headstones._

He was still having the dreams.Every single night, without fail.At first, he thought they were nothing more than nightmares, the aftereffects of tucking into some dodgy blood bags.

But no, that wasn't it.

Whether he was alone or with Harmony, whether he'd just finished off yet another lovely gourmet bagged meal or had gone to bed without eating, regardless of anything he did or didn't do... the dreams still came.

_ _

_She's haunting me, Harmony!_

It had started simply enough.The Slayer had, for the most part, been nothing more than a walk-on in his dreams, up until a few months before -- a mere extra in the Technicolor picture show his mind put on for him daily as he slept.On occasion, though, he dreamed of the day when he would at last sink his teeth into that golden throat and drink until she crumbled into nothing more than a heap of dust, tendrils of that blond hair fleeing in the wake of the wind's touch.

More often than not, Spike dreamed of mundane things, mortal things.Things he had no true understanding of, things he would probably never experience first-hand for himself. 

Of going to school, meeting his sweetheart, marrying her as soon as they'd graduated... having dozens of little rug rats that looked just like them.Taking the best from each of them, boiling it down and concentrating it.Their little girl, his princess, would have dark auburn hair, piercing blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones just like her daddy and pink cupid's bow lips and a sweet, heart shaped face like her mum.

His son -- Spike's own flesh-and-blood child -- his boy would inherit his mother's kind hazel eyes, his father's thin lips, lanky physique, and hardy constitution, all topped off by a mop of chestnut curls.

They'd both develop their father's knack for expertly aimed sarcasm and their mother's obstinacy and sense of responsibility.Their children would be the best of both of them -- living, breathing fusion of their blood and spirit -- and he and his beloved would make certain that their children had everything they would ever need.But they wouldn't be spoiled, no.The lad would no doubt inherit his father's mischievous streak and his ability to charm even the most priggish babysitter... but he'd be everything his father could not be, would do all the things that his father hadn't done, the things his demon prevented him from doing.

It was so sweet, so fulfilling, so painfully, painfully perfect that it made Spike downright queasy.

"Ugh," Spike groaned as he drew back from the edge of his perch.He stretched out in the center of the roof, took out a cigarette and lit it, midnight blue eyes concentrating on the moonless sky overhead.

Spike had been in the world long enough to see every type of night sky imaginable. Skies filled with countless stars, spread out above like a velvety, diamond-studded blanket enfolding the world.On nights like those, Drusilla would settle down on a blanket in the courtyard and try to count them all.Over the course of a century, she'd managed to get as far as one or two billion, but then she'd lose her place and Miss Edith would tell her she had to start counting all over again.

Other nights, the sky was a black, indifferent void.Darker, colder and emptier than any corporeal creature -- souled or unsouled, human, demon or 'other' -- you could ever imagine.

The sky, Spike had decided long ago, was right badass.It had seen the dawn of dinosaurs and their ultimate annihilation, had seen the rough drafts of human beings, observed with disdainful amazement today's technology-dependent 'civilization.'And still, on nights like this one, you could look up into the ether and almost feel something staring back at you, pressing down on you and saying, "You are nothing.You are infinitely worthless in the big scheme of things.I've seen it all and you are nowhere near as wonderful as you think you are.With your computers and your cell-phones and your politics and your fragile little _lives and all-too-delicate bodies.You will not last forever.__I will."_

_I'm naming all the stars..._

_ _

_You can't see the stars, luv, he'd pointed out as gently as possible.To contradict her and speak in his customary blunt fashion would only serve to upset Dru and the one thing that hurt him more than anything was to see his tainted blossom cry.__That's the ceiling.Also, it's day._

I_ can see them.But I've named them all the same name... and there's terrible confusion..._

Bands of rusted razor wire cinched mercilessly around Spike's inert heart as he recalled that he had never even asked her what she had named them.

"Bollocks," he growled through gritted teeth, shaking off the nostalgia like a peevish soaked feline.He quickly finished his cigarette, blindly crushing it out on the concrete beside him, and flicked the butt over the side.

This wasn't the time to get lost in his own head -- he was going to turn into a miserable, broody poofter just like his soulful sire, if he wasn't careful --he had to keep an eye on his slayer. 

Rolling back over onto his stomach, Spike eased himself over to the edge of the roof to continue his vigil.As he leaned over, his nose bumped into something.Hard.

"Ow!"

"Ack!" Buffy reeled back in surprise, nearly losing her handhold in the process."Spike!"

"Fuck, Slayer!You nearly scared the death outta me!"He fell back, gravel crunching beneath him, as he rubbed at his sore nose."What you doing up here?"

"I was getting ready to take a break!This is the best spot to relax and still see all four corners of the cemetery!What the hell are _you doing up here?!"_

"I'm knitting you a Honda," he shot back."What's it look like I'm doing?"

"Ha-ha.Jackass," she grumped, levering herself up onto the roof gracefully."You nearly gave me a heart-attack."

"Serves you right."

"Oh, whatever." Buffy huffed as she took a seat on the edge, feet dangling.Spike rolled over onto his side, then sat up and took a seat beside her, ever mindful of not sitting _too close to the young woman.He shook another cigarette out of his pack and lit it.The breeze caused a gout of smoke to waft right into Buffy's face and she directed a withering glare his way."You know, next week is Smoke Out Week."_

"You what?" The cigarette pressed between his lips bobbled up and down as he spoke.

"Smoke Out Week.It's a week for when people that wanna quit smoking finally quit." She glanced down at the pack of cigarettes in his hand and then back up at him, favoring him with a meaningful look.

"Bully for them," he muttered."I'm not bloody quittin'."

"Why do you smoke so much?" She asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Why do you care?"At her shrug, he sighed."They are the one thing that keeps me from snapping the necks of irritating little bottle-blond slayers who pester me about why I smoke so much."

"Jeesh.Tense much?" Buffy frowned."Forget I said anything."

"Gladly."

The pair sat in stubborn silence for several minutes.Spike finished his cigarette and Buffy observed the cemetery spread out below, keeping an eye out for any bloodsuckers, idly twirling a stake with her right hand.

"And hey!" Buffy exclaimed, Spike's snippy words finally registering.She wagged the stake in his face as though it was an extension of her hand."I'm not the only bottle-blond on this roof, mister!"

Spike snorted at the slayer's words, but said nothing.

"So... what _are_ you doing up here?" 

"I asked you first."

"Mature, Spike," Buffy pursed her lips, brows knitting together.

"I do try, Slayer, I do try," he held the smoldering cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, aiming carefully as he tossed it over the side, watching as the half-smoked butt sailed in a clean arc through the air like a miniature missile, landing in the dirt by the mausoleum.

"While I've got you up here, though," Buffy began, turning to him, "I just wanted to... thank you... for what you did for Tara."

"What you talkin' about?I did something for her?When?"To hear Spike talk, you'd think someone had been spreading the most horrible rumors about him behind his back.

"At the magic shop?'Member?Tara's 'kin' coming to haul her away?" She said in a lazy southern drawl, tossing her stake from hand to hand."You punched her in the nose and the little chip went all 'Bzzzt!' in your gray matter?"

"Oh, right," Spike shifted in place, suddenly uncomfortable."Well..."

"Wow," Buffy folded her legs in front of her and watched him carefully, cradling her hands in her lap."This is probably the..." she paused for a moment, thinking."Yep, this is the only time I have ever seen you at a loss for words.Shhh," she held out both hands as though silencing a large crowd of onlookers."Relish this moment."

"Sod off," he muttered, digging into his pockets for another cigarette."Only reason I did it was 'cause I didn't wanna hear Red pissin' and moanin' about her little girly skipping town."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Shut up!"  
"What?"Buffy was the very portrait of blamelessness."What did I say?"

"You didn't _say_ anything... it was this bleedin' _tone_ you used."

"Come on!You just don't wanna admit that you like Red -- er, Wills," she stammered, flustered for using the vampire's own nickname for her best friend.

"I bloody well do not!Now, I don't know where you found that bag full of pharmaceutical grade goodies you seem to have gotten into, Slayer, but next time, I hope you share.I don't like _any_ of you lot.I hate you.Remember?Me, evil vampire; you, boring goody-goodies.Or were you just not payin' attention when I said I didn't care what happened to the stutterin' bint?"

"Oh, please!Denial, party of one!If you didn't care, you wouldn't have done _anything_.You would have just stood there and let them take her away!"

"It just so happens that I've a lot of built up frustration," Spike began, by way of an explanation, "and I needed to belt something."He shrugged, hoping that his explanation didn't sound as lame to the slayer's ears as it did to his own."She was closest."

"Right." 

"There you go again with that effin' tone!"

"Oh, fine!Fine, fine!Be that way, you- you -- grouchy undead smokestack!"Buffy hopped down off of the mausoleum, landing lightly on her feet on the earth a few feet below.She marched away without a backwards glance."I've got vamps to dust.If you know what's best for you, you'll get gone before I'm done."

"So then I'll see you back at my place after you're done here, then?Right, sweetness?" Spike called to her as he retook his guard post; flat on his stomach, head supported by his folded arms, a facetious smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Buffy stumbled to an abrupt halt at his teasing words, her back still to him.Even in full dark, his keen eyes could very easily see the way she thrust her tiny fists down onto her hips, bowed and shook her head in silent incredulity.

"Rrrrrgghhh!"Spike bit his lip, reining in the delighted snicker that threatened to escape at the Slayer's explosive outburst of irritation.

And she was on her way again, a torrent of inventive (but, on the whole, anatomically impossible) curses trailing after her, growing in volume the further she walked.

By the stars... how he loved that little girl.


End file.
